I never saw my mom take a sip of alcohol, much less get
drunk, but I recently got a pretty good feel for what that might look like.
Mom was in the hospital for surgery. They gave her a “little
bit” of something to relax her. A short time later, the party began.
First, mom spoke a bit of gibberish. Then she regained her
footing for a minute and started to make sense again, sort of. When the doctor
entered the room, she promised she wouldn’t “monitor him too much” and would
“just go along.” I’m sure he was quite relieved to know she wouldn’t be taking
notes during surgery.
The doctor thanked her, looked at us, smiled and said,
“They’ve given her some medicine.” No kidding. The best was yet to come.
Next, mom saw a diminutive male nurse. “Look at that little fellow,”
she said, apparently mistaking him for a doctor. “He’s been in two or three
surgeries already today, hasn’t he?” When “the little fellow” came to take mom back,
we could barely contain ourselves. Thankfully, she was finished commenting on
him, but not finished talking.
“I’m pretty relaxed now,” she told me, “except for my
teeth.” I checked around for witnesses to that gem. Unfortunately, there were
none.
Finally, they started rolling mom back to the operating
room. We were worried. You could cut the tension with a knife … until mom
looked back over her shoulder, smiled, waved and nonchalantly said, “toodle loo.”
There’s no telling what mom said next. Regardless, I heard
enough to know she would be a lot of fun at a cocktail party.
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